Chase
Silence falls between us. She sits across from me with this adorable pout, flapping her mile-long lashes. I feel like an asshole. I came on too strong, and I touched a nerve. God, why does she look so much like her? The incredible likeness is etching its way under my skin, festering from the inside out. Back then, I was too much of a fucking mess to see what was right in front of me. That's the problem with addiction. You don't see it when it's happening. It's not until you've clawed your way out of the impossible hole you've dug for yourself that you realize how badly you've truly fucked up your life.
The waitress's return is a welcomed distraction from the heavy cloud descended over our table. "Another Long Island?" she asks, setting down our plates.
"No," is Kat's clipped response.
Dammit. I fucked up.
"So. Tell me about your job," I say, trying to lighten the mood.
"I'm the head esthetician and makeup artist at the salon." One sculpted brow arcs while she watches me prepare my meal. "What are you, on the Atkins diet or something?"
"White bread and refined grains, in general, aren't particularly nutritious." I layer a thick slice of tomato on top of the burger and make a bun with the scraps of lettuce.
Kat snorts and shoves a french fry into her mouth. "You're one quirky dude, Chase."
I nod. Suppose I am. "Esthetician is skincare, right?" A hint of pink peeks from the corner of her glimmering lips as she tongues away a dab of ketchup. "Why only worry about the outside?"
"What do you mean?"
"Concentrating on just one part is like throwing flowers on a toxic waste pile. Sure, it's pretty, but inside is a big old mess. We only get one body."
A cutting glare twinkles in the lights strung overhead as her mouth curves into a smirk. "Well, then, shouldn't you be afraid to get lead poisoning from all that metal in your face?" She points in my direction and whips her index finger in a Z formation.
A bubble of laughter pops from my chest. "Touché."
"And maybe get a check for hepatitis while you're at it," she quips, tapping a sparkling black fingernail on the right side of her neck in the exact location of my butterfly tattoo.
"Okay, okay. Point taken. Tell me more about yourself."
"What else do you want to know?"
When my lips part, I have to physically restrain myself from saying the first word that pops into my mind. Everything. I want to know as much about her as I can, but that's a lot to ask from a girl I just met. Instead, I shrug and stuff the corner of my burger in my mouth.
"I love the spa, but what I really want is to move out to California and do makeup for the stars. My brother is a big-shot financial broker in Los Angeles. If he'd let me stay with him while I got on my feet, I know I could make a killing out there."
"Have you asked him?"
The corners of her mouth turn down. "Nikos thinks what I do is a joke. He keeps telling me to get a real job."
"That's shitty."
"Thank you!" She throws her hands in the air. "He and my parents think I'm wasting my time because I'm not out making a stellar living, but they don't get it. I'm passionate about what I do, and I'm good at it. All I need is to catch a break. But, until then, I'm the broke-ass troll who lives in my mom's basement."
My hand falls on top of hers. "I don't think you're a troll."
She looks down at my hand and back up at me with pinched brows. "Thanks." She pulls her hand away and rests them both in her lap. Another quiet moment hangs in the air. I need to think of something else to say quickly before she blows back the inevitable question . . .
"What's your story, Chase?"
And there it is.
For the better part of my adult life, I've mastered the art of small talk. It's simple, really. The secret? Keep the conversation on them. People inherently love talking about themselves. If you seem really interested, they'll just keep going. It's a weird self-involvement the majority of humans have. Except for me. I avoid it at all costs.
"There isn't much to say. I work at Morello and Tate's on the highway."
"Doing what?"
"Car repair. Not my dream but it pays the bills." My dreams turned out to be more like nightmares. It's true what they say—be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. I got it, all right. Then I lost it. I lost everything.
"Can I get you guys anything else?" The waitress's final appearance takes the emphasis off me. I reach into my pocket to grab my wallet, and Kat does the same.
"I got this; don't worry about it."
"Are you sure?"
A smile rolls across my face. "Yes. But I appreciate the reach."
The giggle that follows catches me off guard. Everything about her is dark and snarky, but that one tiny piece of childlike laughter brightens up her entire being. I get the feeling it's not something she gives up easily. This is the first time I've heard the uplifting sound float from her chest, and I'll do anything to hear it again. But something tells me she's going to make me work for it.
Between our arrival and departure, the number of patrons in the place doubled. We let ourselves out through the fence rather than going back through the restaurant the way we came. In the parking lot, I pull a pack of Marlboro Lights from the pocket of my sweatshirt and bring it to my lips, extracting one with my teeth.
"You smoke?" Kat's eyes widen. "Excuse me, Slim Goodbody. Doesn't that kind of go against, like, everything you stand for?"
"What can I say?" I mumble around the filter. "Some vices are harder to give up than others."
The flame glimmers against her judgmental eyes and pursed lips as I light the tip of my smoke. "Well, then . . ." She shucks one shoulder strap from her enormous bag, letting it fall open in front of her. With her opposite hand, she rifles through it then extracts a cigarette of her own. "Got a light?"
She leans against the trunk of my car, one slender leg crossed over the other as she blows smoke rings into the warm night air. "You wanna do something else, or you calling it a night?"
Letting the filter dangle from my lips, I pull my phone out halfway to check the time. "Don't you have work tomorrow?"
"No, I took off. The only thing I have going on tomorrow is attempting to get my car from impound. Here's hoping Athena can give me a ride."
"Do I wanna know how your car got impounded?"
"Probably not." I watch her throat move as she tips her head back and lets out a steady stream of smoke then flicks the butt onto the pavement with an explosion of orange ash. "Thanks for dinner, Chase. And for bringing my phone back. I owe you one."
"Well, you had to put up with my preachy rhetoric all night, so consider us even." I walk around to the passenger side and pull open the door. A light gust of wind blows through the lot, pushing a purple and black strand across her face. Without a second thought, I skim my finger down her cheek, freeing the silken length from her massive eyelash. She shivers. "Cold?"
"No," she whispers and climbs into the seat.
The tingling feeling shooting up my forearm doesn't quit as I close the door. She felt it too. The electricity. It's the only explanation for the sudden spark in her eyes the moment my fingertip touched her temple. I can't get involved. My life is hanging by a thread as it is. The last thing I need is another beautiful project dragging me down, but the thought of never seeing her again creates an uncomfortable flutter in my chest. If one good thing comes from the mistakes I've made, then that makes them worth it.
I couldn't save Desiree.
But maybe I can help Kat.
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